A Tale of Wishers: The Dance

“His Highness, King Greiden of Jangvit and his son, Prince Rilen of Jangvit!”
Rilen grinned falsely as he heard the Karkonian herald announce his name. However he might try, he still hated attending foreign court parties. For starters, there was never anyone he knew there except his parents and other royals, who were ultimately dull and preoccupied with matters of state. Then, there were all those flatterers who kept on trying to impress him as though he were made of gold, bound by the stuffy manners impressed upon society. Add to that all the women trying to get him to marry them, he often found himself wishing he could run away and live in the mountains, away from all of it. Well, perhaps with a few choice servants.
He descended the staircase with his father, giving the assembled courtiers his best forced smile. I should go into theatre, he thought as he kissed the hand of his fiancé, Queen Vetra, and started the dancing. I certainly do enough acting.
He did, however, have to admire the beauty of the woman with which he was dancing. Queen Vetra was renowned for being the most breathtakingly gorgeous woman of the twenty-one known kingdoms. She was rather young to be queen, as her predecessor, King Yeidsta, had died in battle with Jangvit at an early age. His last wish had been that his daughter would marry Rilen so the fighting would end.
“You look beautiful this evening,” he said, making a stab at conversation. The perfume she was wearing clouded his head, making his mind slow down to a halt. He vaguely remembered rumors that she was a gifted sorceress. Perhaps this perfume was one of her concoctions.
She smiled, showing straight white teeth under her full, red lips. “Thank you, Rilen.” Her green eyes’ penetrating stare paired with her perfect smile gave an unnerving effect. “I suppose your kingdom fares well, judging by the wonderful craftsmanship on your soldiers’ armor?”
His head was too filled with perfume to take too much offense, but he did recognize the attempt at espionage. “You have a good eye,” he replied, “for a sorceress.”
She bit her lip as he twirled her into his father’s arms. Greiden gave Rilen a warning look behind Vetra’s back. Rilen simply raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and wandered as far away from Vetra as he possibly could.
He started to settle himself by the fire, but the moment he sat by it he saw, in the flames, Queen Vetra looking intently at him. He glanced over to where she was dancing with his father and was shocked to find the images identical.
The dance finished, and there was applause for the musicians. King Greiden and Queen Vetra paid the proper respects--precisely the proper amount--of parting a dance before Greiden joined his son by the fire. A moment ago he had been smiling lively as he danced; he was well-known all over the twenty-one kingdoms for his excellent dancing, but now he looked tired and weary.
“She did it to you, too, I suppose,” Greiden said to his son. Then, as Rilen motioned toward the fireplace, he added, “Right; let’s talk outside.”
The gardens were quite beautiful, full of flowers of every color, scent, and kind. The stars glimmered at him from above, and he could have sworn he heard singing in the distance. Rilen took in the fresh air gladly; it had been long since he had been outside.
“Son, it’s no secret I’m getting old.” His father’s mournful grey eyes, so different from the harsh but beautiful green of Vetra’s, searched him. “The fire that eats me from within will finish its work in less than a year, and then you will be king. Before then, though, you marry Vetra.”
“I know this, father, but I wish it were not so. Or that she wasn’t a sorceress; I don’t want my every thought to be read and twisted for the rest of my life!” It seemed like all the rage he had been holding inside of him at his prearranged marriage, endless political games, and at having his mind constantly drilled, poked, and prodded by Queen Vetra was finally spilling out. “Every time I see her, it’s like she’s reading my every thought! Didn’t you always tell me that if you loved someone, you trusted them? Obviously she doesn’t trust me, and I certainly don’t trust her. How in the twenty-one kingdoms will that ever make a marriage, less so an alliance?”
“Foreign affairs are not the same as love, my son,” Greiden sighed. “You know the devastation having Karkonia against us caused; we were very foolhardy to provoke them in the first place. You will find, in time, that as a ruler it is better to live in hell and protect your subjects than to pursue your own happiness. I didn’t learn soon enough, and I hope, for all our sakes, that you do. Vetra may be a pain for you to live with, but better to live with her than to fight her.”
“Father--”
“You think I don’t know? You think I like being here any more than you do? Pretend to enjoy yourself, and maybe eventually you will. Part of politics is acting, and the key to acting is becoming the part. You are my son, you are the prince, and you will be king: play the part!”
Rilen opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it; that would be childish. Instead, he spoke in his controlled, political voice, though it cracked into reality from time to time. “What about integrity? What about honesty? I thought that was what you wanted. Can’t we ever just talk like a normal family, like when mother was alive?”
“I wish we could. But we were born into leadership, and that’s our duty. Speaking of which,” he turned towards the castle, “there’s a party we are supposed to be attending. I would suggest you return after you get back into character.”
Why did they make an actor his advisor? Rilen wondered. What do actors know about running a kingdom?
He tried to get himself to relax into the debonair, airy attitude he reserved for parties, but he couldn’t. Not tonight. Not with Queen Vetra there; she could see right through him. He tried his father’s tactic; concentrating on the good parts of the situation, pretending to enjoy himself. Hey, he was about to marry the most beautiful woman in the known world, the flowers were blooming, the stars were shining, and there was singing. He loved singing. Once he hired a hundred minstrels to sing for his father’s fortieth birthday celebration. It had been glorious, a spectacle never forgotten by any present.
He smiled, remembering the look on his parents’ faces, and on those of the minstrels when they received their pay, as it had been during the off-season for entertainers; they never starve in the winter, when people are indoors for the Solstice holidays, but in the summer, when everyone was outdoors, many a musician are to be found roaming the streets, desperately hoping for hire at a hunting party or a wedding.
The thought of his father was heavy on his mind. Although King Greiden looked the very picture of regal vitality, he was slowly dying from an internal disease. Rilen regretted the confrontation he’d just had, but he would never admit it.
He slowly came to realize that the singing wasn’t coming from the castle, but from somewhere down the garden’s pathways. It was a female voice, and the tune was sad as he drew close enough to make out the words.
“Fair moon, so bright
You hide yourself this eve
The sun’s great light
Abandons those who grieve.

“Small stars you hide
In crowds protecting
Here I have sighed
From chaos selecting

“Ashes have come
To cleanse us of darkness
I will have some
Justice from starkness.

“Until that day
I continue pleading
When will you make
An end to the bleeding?”

It was the saddest and most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He followed it until he came upon a figure in rags huddled over a stone well. “What ails you, beautiful of voice?” he asked, entranced.
“None of your business, especially if you intend to sweet talk me like that,” she said, sounding annoyed. “Guess you’re one of those fancy-pants from the ball, come to pick on a serving-maid.”
“No,” he replied in wonder. Obviously, she did not know who he was. He intended to keep it that way. “I don’t want to pick on you.” There was an awkward silence. “You have an amazing voice. I haven’t heard such in any of the courts of the twenty-one kingdoms.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I mean it,” he walked towards her. “Why is it raised in sorrow?”
“Why should a pampered noble care?” Her voice was dry. “Matters of the state don’t include pestering the people whose lives they affect.”
Rilen was taken aback. He had never heard a commoner speak that frankly to him before. Then again, he mused, she still didn’t know who he was.
“I don’t wish to pester you, lady,” he said soothingly. “I just want to know what troubles you. A voice that wonderful should have something better to sing about than grief.”
“Is grief not wonderful?” She straightened up, still with her back to him. “When you have pain, at least you know you’re still human because you feel something. When things are going well, you can’t know you’re human if you take no delight in your good fortune. As for me, I’d rather have this pain than not know whether or not I’m human.”
He thought on this, flashing back to the rounds and rounds of parties. Even in the music, there had always been something missing. “Then tell me your troubles, that I may share your pain and become human also.”
The figure chuckled, but it was a sad sort of chuckle. “If you really want to know...” her voice trailed off. Then she shrugged. “I guess if it will help someone else, I can tell my tale.”
“Please, miss,” he implored.
“All right,” she said, squaring up her shoulders. “But promise me, don’t take offense at what I am about to say, for I know you are a nobleman by your voice. I am merely stating what happened.”
He unsheathed his sword and set it in front of him, so she could see he was unarmed. “I’m listening.”
“Very well, then.” She drew in a deep breath. “It’s quite simple, really. My mother used to love to do fine embroidery; my father’s a merchant, you see, and he could sell her work alongside his other wares. He loved her dearly, and got her a special embroidery-frame of the darkest ebony, for nobody in the twenty-one kingdoms could ever do embroidery quite as well as my mother. One day she pricked her finger on her needle and the drop of blood fell on the snow. Father heard her say to herself, ’Oh that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the embroidery frame!’”
“She must have been quite the poet.”
“In the merchant’s trade, having a sweet tongue is valuable. She had a talent for telling good stories.”
So it is in politics, he thought. “Her daughter inherited it.”
“Thank you, but that’s only part of the story. When I was born, I was what she wanted. She called me Snow-White. Unfortunately, she died very soon after.”
“I’m sorry; my mother died when I was fifteen.”
“Really? How?”
Rilen hesitated and sighed, “She was killed in the siege of the Jangvitan castle.”
“Wow,” the girl remarked. “What was she doing there? Even merchants were warned to do no trade in the Jangvitan capital; my father had to join the army because we couldn’t support ourselves without the trade in yilite he carried between the dwarves of the seven mountains and the people of Jangvit.”
“At least you still have him, don’t you? Mine is dying.”
“No,“ she sounded as though she was holding back tears, “Listen: my story isn’t over yet. When we went to war with Jangvit, he died side-by-side with Queen Vetra’s father. Actually, let me rephrase that; he was wounded side-by-side with Vetra’s father. He could’ve gotten medical attention immediately and lived, but instead he carried the dying King Yeidsta on horseback all the way back to the castle. He bled to death. That’s it, really. Terrible, what disputing nations can do to the common people. And all this for a trade disagreement?”
“My goodness,” he breathed, taking in the horror of what he’d just heard. The reason Jangvit was at war with Karkonia was because Jangvit had tried to purchase more of the precious yilite stone than the original agreement had called for. The Karkonians had refused to change it, stating that they had other countries to do business with, and Jangvit had always gotten more out of the deal than anyone else all along. Also, the Karkonians were somewhat concerned for the scarcity of the yilite, and mining more could, after all, mean diminishing the supply forever. And for this, for trade, blood was being shed.
“Good thing that Prince Riken is going to marry the good Queen, isn’t it?” She brought his thoughts back to earth with a bump. “No more fighting, and a wedding to celebrate! Good paying work for us, less cost for the government in military expenses.”
“It’s Rilen,” he corrected her absentmindedly. “Listen,” he lowered his voice, glancing at the castle. “Has it occurred to anyone in Karkonia that Rilen--”
“Prince Rilen--”
“--might not really want to get married? That he might enjoy being a bachelor? Or that he’s not ready to wed a witch just to end a stupid war that should have never started in the first place?” He was angry now. “Oh, yes, you commoners think it’s great fun--but it’s torture!”
“Sir!” She nearly dropped her bucket into the well with shock. “That’s sedition, it is, you’ll get in trouble speaking about our good Queen that way! I’m sure the Prince recognizes that even though it might mean personal agony for him, this will end the spilling of innocent blood; any wise ruler would. Besides, any man who doesn’t see the astounding beauty of our glorious Queen would have something really wrong with him, as he would be the luckiest man in the world merely to look upon her face!”
“Oh, sure she’s beautiful!” He growled. “Sure, she’s powerful! Glorious, gorgeous and wise, but the question is, will she ever marry me--him--because she loves him or just to get what she wants? Tell me that, wise one; surely you must know!”
The girl seemed taken aback. “Well, it was her father’s last request; a dying man’s words are a binding contract, whether liked or not. Everyone knows that; why don’t you? My father didn’t drag King Yeidsta all the way over here just to have his dying wisdom disregarded.”
He was at a loss for what to say. There was silence for a while as the girl once again lowered the bucket into the well. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m sorry, er--what is your name?” It occurred to him for the first time that he didn’t know.
“ It’s Nadra,” she said with what sounded like she might be smiling.
“Well, I’m sorry; I’m grateful that you spoke to me so plainly. No one has in a very long time.” He paused thoughtfully. “Nor have I; you are the first for a while.”
“I have told very few my story, even though the castle employs me as a storyteller; it relieved me, you must know.”
There was silence for an even longer time. “What would you think,” he asked experimentally, curious, “if the Prince was falling in love with someone else? Someone other than Vetra?”
“She would have to be quite the looker.”
“What if he did not even know what she looked like?” He was eager to know.
“That would be noble,” she said, “as looks can be entirely misleading. To love someone for what they are, not what they look like, ought to be, or pretend to be is one of the noblest and rarest things here, or anywhere in the twenty-one kingdoms. That alone is what the minstrels call ‘true love.’ “ Her voice had been dreamy, but now it was realistic. “But in the case of the Prince, he has a duty to peace, a duty to a dying man. If he must sacrifice his own personal happiness for the good of many, so be it.”
He barely had time to ponder this before his father and a surly-looking woman in a chef’s hat came marching down the path to the well, each looking quite displeased.
“Nadra!”
“Helga!”
“Rilen!”
“Father!”
“You were supposed to have filled the water barrel by now, Nadra!” Helga, the castle’s head chef yelled. “Do you want to go back to the streets from whence you came? Castle employment is an honor, not a right!”
“No, mistress,” Nadra spoke timidly, than with more confidence. “For the record, though, I can make my living just as well there as here, without doing anything illegal. I‘m a volunteer, not an employee of the kitchen.”
“Prove it, wench,” the cook snarled. “Just prove you weren’t about to make a tidy profit on Prince Rilen here, who should know better.”
“Son, what is the meaning of this?” King Greiden rumbled, shocked. “I thought I taught you better than to associate with the likes of these!”
“Prince Rilen?” Nadra at last turned around. Before she disappeared into a prostrate pile of tears, Rilen was able to note a fair complexion, thick wavy hair just visible beneath her ragged shawl, and liquid brown-gold eyes, wide in fright.
“My Prince, I did not know it was you!” She gasped. “Why did you not say? Why did you let me say what I said?”
“I was enjoying our conversation,” he said truthfully. “Better than all those clowns in there,” he gestured towards the banquet hall.
“Rilen,” King Greiden coughed, reminding all that they were in the presence of royal authority, “where have you been for the last half hour? You were supposed to be at the party! You have no right to call our hosts names, and we do not want to offend them.” Silently, he mouthed, Play the part!
“Will you give us a chance to explain?” He queried, exasperated. “I was sick of being in there, so I came out here, decided to learn a little more about this place by talking to a local, and that’s it! No deals, no bargains, the girl didn’t even know who I was until a few moments ago! Will you leave her alone?”
“You don’t need to defend me, your Royal Highness,” she whispered. “I’ll take what’s coming, I should not have neglected my duties--”
“Right well you shouldn’t have!” Helga bellowed, red in the face. “What business have you talking with the prince of Jangvit? Wertantheow! Volunteers aren‘t worth the time spent looking for them.”
“I will take responsibility for her,” Rilen proclaimed, “as it was I who initiated the conversation.”
“You’re getting yourself into big trouble, son,” his father whispered in his ear, sounding worried. “We have no power here.”
“Very well, then,” Greiden said out loud with seemingly unaffected confidence, “let’s head on back to the ball; your fiancé awaits you, my son...”
As Helga and the king headed back towards the castle, Rilen helped up the trembling Nadra. “Thanks,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied. Then, concerned, he asked, “They won’t dismiss you, will they?”
She shook. “I don’t know. They might. Even though I was a volunteer tonight, what Helga says to Vetra could lose me my job. Not about neglecting the water barrel; Vetra’s nice to volunteers. What Helga could say about me talking to you . . . Then again, I can go back to the streets. Work as a peddler until I can rebuild a business. Who knows; times might change before I die of starvation, eh?” She gave a shaky laugh.
“Good grief! Is Vetra really that possessive? Am I damned to be spied upon for the rest of my natural life?” It seemed as though all the anger that had been building up in him had finally exploded. “I lost my mother, I’m going to lose my father, and now--now I am to lose my freedom to a witch!”
“You can survive anything if you have the will, and if you die, at least make sure you’ve really lived first.” She looked at him straight in the eye. “Economic problems can be faced; I wish I could do something about yours. Starving to a physical death does not destroy the soul; I wish I could give you meaning.”
“You already have,” he sighed, already feeling an aching sadness. “I just wish I could learn more from you.”
Fearfully, as though she were afraid of desecrating something holy, she took his hand, cupped his fingers into a fist, and placed it over her heart, so he could feel its beating. “That is what I have to teach you. Unfortunately--” she placed it over his heart. “Mine will not beat quite so long. It is you who must learn from yourself. You alone can experience and live it.”
He wanted her hand to remain over his for an eternity, for that moment to last a lifetime, but, with tears swelling in her eyes, Nadra lifted her hand, took her bucket, and started to make her way back towards the castle. He watched her for a moment, then yelled, “Wait!”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or the next day, Nadra--” he stepped towards her, “--but I take an oath here that I will find you again, even if it’s the last thing I do!”
“But you never will,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “Leave me to my fate; I could contact you and teach you using magic (I watched Vetra’s sorcery and learned quite a lot), but for the sake of my country, you must go on and marry Vetra. Learn to love her, if you can. If you do this, and set whatever it is you may feel at this moment aside, I will finally be able to count my father’s death and my misfortune avenged, even if I die on the streets of a foreign city.”
“Why do you speak of death so much?” Prince Rilen was confused. “You are young, and should have many years ahead of you. Why dwell on the distant future?”
“It isn’t as distant as you think, Your Royal Highness; I feel in my bones that my days are numbered.” She took his face in her hands and smiled at him. “Worry not for me, though; prepare yourself for your own future, and don’t forget to live. There is a higher power, a much grander plan to be seen. My death and your unwanted marriage no doubt serve to a greater purpose. You shall make a great king, if you remember this.”
Nadra let go of his face, kissed the ring on his hand, bowed, and left. Rilen stood there for a second, then walked towards the well, whispering into it, “God and fate, treat her well.”
He turned, once again, to the garish lights of the castle, mind reeling. Maybe I’m not such a fake after all, he thought as he straightened his fine coat and smiled truly for the first time in months. As long as he forced himself to not be specific about why he was smiling, not even Vetra would be able to tell the difference.